A Time of Secrets (42 page)

I looked down to examine the carpet, unwilling to meet his eyes. ‘Nick won’t break my heart,’ I said. ‘It’s not –’

The door to Dolly’s bedroom opened and Ross emerged. There was an odd, frozen look on his face and he was carrying something in a hand towel. ‘Do you recognise this?’

I walked over to him to see what he was holding. It was a small silver snuffbox, beautifully made and exquisitely engraved. I thought I’d seen it before. With a stomach-wrenching jolt, I
knew
I’d seen it before.

I looked at him stupidly. ‘It’s Mrs Campbell’s, isn’t it? Where did you find it?’

‘It’s Mrs Campbell’s all right. I remember admiring it when we were with her before Dolly’s bridge party. The initials on the lid are the same as my father’s, T.A.R., and I made a joke with her about it.’

I said hesitantly, ‘Maybe it’s only similar to the one you saw?’

He looked at me and raised an eyebrow.

‘Perhaps Mrs Campbell gave it to her as a gift,’ I suggested.

His eyebrow rose again.

‘Was there any other silver in the room?’ I asked.

‘I’m about to look now. Eric?’

They emerged a while later carrying a silver spoon with a barley twist handle, topped by a thistle.

‘We’ll have to ask Dolly about this tomorrow,’ said Ross.

Eric turned to me and ducked his head slightly, as if to ward off an expected blow. ‘We think Nick should stay here tonight. He’ll sleep in Sergeant Harper’s room again.’

‘I don’t want him to do that,’ I said. ‘I’m safe enough here. You’ve checked the locks.’

Eric had a stubborn look on his face. ‘We don’t know where Cole is. Let Nick stay. Please, Stella.’

I was almost comatose with exhaustion. My eyes felt heavy and my brain was fuzzy. It had been an eventful day and I’d not slept well the night before. I strode over to the front door.

‘Out. Both of you. I’ll be fine.’

I must have undressed, because I was in my pyjamas when I awoke the next morning, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember doing so. I awoke to a fine, cold morning and a sense of achievement.

When I remembered the silver we’d found in Dolly’s room, though, my mood darkened. It would have been easy for Dolly to sneak into Mrs Campbell’s flat and steal silver. Almost like a moving picture, a vivid memory of the day I first saw Eric came into my head. I remembered that I had been standing outside the alley in Little Collins Street because I was waiting for Dolly – who had been in a jeweller’s shop where they bought and sold antiques.

There had to be an explanation, I told myself. Nick Ross would find out. In the meantime, I was well and it was a brand-new day. I took a deep breath and relished the feeling of air deep in my lungs. I smiled as I sipped my morning tea. Cole would have some explaining to do about the message from Perth. More importantly, the men in Indigo Baker would not be parachuting straight into a Japanese trap. And Eric would not be going back to Timor with Indigo Charlie.

Eric
. As I rinsed out my breakfast dishes I thought about how Eric had been last night, of the quick pulse in his neck and his hands stretched out in entreaty. Eric wanted me to trust him. Could I do so? He’d terrified me when he’d attacked Ross, because then I’d seen the wolf within him, the capacity for ruthless violence. Undoubtedly the wolf had served him well in this war, enabling him to survive when many would have died, but could I ever really trust Eric Lund, now I’d seen the wolf?

I picked up my hat and placed it firmly on my head. When I checked my reflection in the bedroom mirror my expression was sombre, to match my mood. Ross had said that I shouldn’t push Eric away because of my fears; I had no idea where it would lead, but at least Eric and I were talking.

Thirty-eight

I
t was a bitingly cold August morning and the air was like an assault as I closed the front door of Avoca and stepped onto the path. The scene was more like England than Australia, as frost was heavy on the ground and spectre-grey, just like in Hardy’s poem. I shivered, pulling my army greatcoat more tightly around me. At least it wasn’t raining.

There was no heat to be found in the pallid morning sunshine, and there was a dull, leaden quality to the light. Melbourne in winter was aquatint. I shoved my gloved hands into the pockets of my greatcoat, and began the short journey down Toorak Road, trying not to dwell on the events of the past week.

As I walked eastwards I lifted my face towards the sun, as if I were a tropical flower seeking heat. My breath puffed in front of my face like a little steam engine. The sunshine had lifted my spirits and I delighted in the beauty of the winter’s morning. A few clouds were scattered across a sky of washed blue. The grass at the edge of the footpath had been painted a shimmering white by the frost and sparkled in the morning light. The scent of wood smoke and coal and damp vegetation was in the air around me, and the occasional whiff of mushroom. Voices and laughter of the AWAS women in the park to my right were loud in the still air.

I was almost at Goodwood when I found him. At the front of one of the flats lining Toorak Road was a low brick wall, protecting a narrow garden with a thick hedge of boxleaf honeysuckle. Other shrubs had been thickly planted to fill the space, which was no more than a couple of yards wide.

A sparrow led me to him. I heard a fluttering in the hedge and glanced down to see what had made the sound. The bird was flitting around in some distress and I wondered if I’d scared it somehow or if there was a cat in the vicinity. Then I noticed a khaki coat, or perhaps it was a gleam of sunlight on shoulder pips. I leaned down and lifted a branch to look more closely and then I saw him: an Australian lieutenant, tall, broad-shouldered and dark-haired, lying face down. He was lying peacefully, but so very still. Frost had whitened his hair and his face was pressed into the black soil and mulch in the garden.

Somehow I knew right away he was dead. I felt not horror or sadness, but a sort of disconnection from what was in front of me, from the world around me. Perhaps that was why I was able to step over the wall and push aside the branches to squat beside him. I pulled off my glove and put two fingers on his neck, just to make sure. His skin was cold and seemed stiff, like leather. There was no pulse. Swallowing my fear, I gently lifted his head to see his face.

Rising quickly, I crossed the road to Goodwood and went up to the young private on guard at the gate, pulling out my identification papers from my satchel as I did so.

‘Please.’ My voice was high and squeaky. ‘There’s a body in the garden of those flats.’ I turned and gestured towards the building with a trembling finger. ‘It’s Lieutenant Cole.’

*

I had the curious feeling that I was reliving something that had already happened, even though everything about finding Cole’s body was entirely different from when I’d found Violet.

The private on the gate called out for assistance and the guard from the door was running towards him as I went through the doors into the foyer at Goodwood. I almost fell onto a chair near the reception desk and sat there, head bowed, staring at the multi-coloured tiles, as around me the commotion began. Running feet, shouts, telephones ringing, whispered conversations. Later, the sound of an ambulance, police sirens, the squeal of brakes. Those sounds were all beyond Goodwood’s gate. No one, not even the police, would be allowed inside Goodwood. I was safe in Goodwood. So I sat in the foyer, watched over by Betty, counting the coloured tiles and listening to the sounds outside the gate.

‘Come on.’ It was Ross’s voice. ‘Come upstairs where it’s more comfortable.’

He put his hand under my arm and helped me to stand up. I couldn’t understand why I felt so weak, so disorientated. For one thing, there had been no blood. Plus, I had feared and disliked the man. Why then, was I shaky and rather tearful?

‘It’s the shock,’ I said, not looking at him. ‘That’s why I’m being so silly.’

‘Of course,’ he replied.

‘I thought it was you,’ I said, blinking back the tears.

‘But it wasn’t me. I’m fine.’

I kept my head down as we climbed the stairs and walked along the corridor towards his office. The Turkish rug was still beautiful and it brought back memories of Eric, on that morning before he was sent away.

‘You don’t hate Eric, do you?’ My voice was low, hesitant.

‘Not in the slightest. And he doesn’t hate me.’

‘He hated Cole. Mary said so. He told me so.’

‘Not enough to kill him. Don’t worry about that.’

He opened the door to his office and we went in. Eric was standing by the desk and my pulse quickened. I imagined how it would feel to run into his arms, to be held tightly by him. I imagined the comfort that would bring. We looked at each other. He made a quick movement. I flinched. He leaned back against the desk and turned his head towards the window.

‘Sit down, Stella,’ said Ross.

I sat in a chair and took a deep breath. No wheeze. At least I was spared that.

‘Your old mates Detectives McGurk and Browne are on the case,’ said Ross, putting a cup of tea in front of me. ‘Drink all of this.’

It was very sweet, but it tasted wonderful. I stared at the floor as I sipped it and tried not to think of Eric, standing just out of view.

‘Is Rob sitting in on interviews of service personnel?’ It was Eric’s voice.

‘No, unfortunately. He had to excuse himself this time, because we’re suspects.’

I was jolted out of my stupor.
Suspects?

Ross went on, ‘They’ll call us all in for interviews this afternoon in the brand-new police headquarters in Russell Street.’

‘I’m interested to see inside the building,’ said Eric. ‘It’s just been opened and I think –’

‘Shut up about the building,’ I said, sitting up and looking at them. ‘This is serious. Do you have alibis?’

They exchanged glances.

‘Not really,’ said Ross.

Five minutes later I was pacing around the office, glaring at Eric, glad to be feeling
something
again, even if it was fear masked by fury. Eric had spent the night, so he said, under the stairs at the back of Avoca. Ross had been in his car out the front.

‘You must have been freezing, Eric. If you were determined to keep watch over the flat, you could have at least asked for some blankets.’

‘I’ve been colder.’

‘Yes, I know. At the Prom. You were colder at Wilsons bloody Promontory.’

I turned to look at the window, hoping he hadn’t seen the tears.

‘You know, I like it when Stella swears,’ said Ross. ‘It’s how you imagine Princess Elizabeth would sound, if she swore.’

I forced the tears away and twisted around to glare at Ross.

‘It wouldn’t have been much warmer in the car, either.’

He shrugged. ‘I found a rug in the boot.’

Eric’s voice was indignant. ‘You didn’t say you had a rug.’

‘I’d forgotten I had it. I found it after you’d left. Fair’s fair. It would’ve been yours if you’d won the toss.’

I broke in, confused. ‘What toss?’

‘We tossed a coin to see where we’d keep watch. I won and got the car, Eric got the backyard.’

‘And neither of you saw anything?’

‘Not a thing,’ said Ross. ‘It was quiet as the grave, all night.’

‘And you both left at dawn?’

‘It was about six. We went to my digs and got a little sleep, then turned up here to be told the news.’

‘You should have gone straight back to your lodgings after you left me last night. Then you’d have alibis. Then you’d be in the clear.’ I blew out a shaky breath. ‘How did he die, exactly?’

‘The cause of death was a stab wound to the medulla oblongata, commonly known as the brain stem,’ said Ross in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘Apparently death was instantaneous and had occurred some six hours before. Looks like he’d been placed in the garden after he was killed.’

I looked down, flicked a glance at the window and looked at my shoes again. I bit my bottom lip.

‘Spit it out, Stella,’ said Ross.

I looked at Eric, then at Ross, then back to Eric.

‘I didn’t kill him,’ said Eric. ‘Nor did Nick. I’m not sorry he’s dead. But I didn’t kill him.’

‘I hated the bastard,’ said Ross. ‘But I didn’t put a knife in his neck. I swear it, Stella.’

‘I had to ask.’ I looked at Eric again, became lost in that blue gaze. ‘You do understand?’

He nodded. ‘Clears the air. Question is, if it wasn’t us, who was it? Because if they don’t get a suspect quickly, odds on they’ll try to pin it on me or Nick.’

‘They’ll think it’s you,’ said Ross. He leaned back in his chair and lifted his arms in a stretch. ‘That’s a commando killing. Quick, ruthless and effective.’

Eric nodded again. ‘I’ve trained men how to do it.’ He half sat on the desk and turned to look out the window into the garden. He became very still and his shoulders slumped a little.

Ross said, ‘They’ll probably think I helped, though.’